Endgame
by Atheniandream
Summary: Episode Tag for 3.08 SPOILERS for this ep, but not further. Somewhat Sequel to 'Just Tonight' Summary He's been rushing to the finish line for so long now that he's not sure if he passed over it years ago, or if there's still miles to go...


Endgame 1/1 (Episode Tag) 

Notes: Somewhat sequel to 'Just Tonight'. This is a one shot, unfortunately I have too many other fics needing chapters xx

* * *

The night air is fresh and crisp, moving past his cheekbones with a coolness as he tempers the slow strides that carry him down the block.

He forgets sometimes, how beautiful the city is, now in its slow blurring lights and rushing traffic how if you let yourself, the whole world can pass you by without even brushing past you in the street.

He's been rushing to the finish line for so long now that he's not sure if he passed over it years ago or if there's still miles to go. But the pull and push around it, he feels that everyday; his name on the wall, breaking and making up with Jessica and Mike _and_...

"Donna?"

He squints slightly, halting on the corner of his block as she leans expertly against the car, _his car_ in today's outfit that still reminds him of a catsuit; like she's moonlighting in some Adam West version of 'Batman on Broadway'.

Somehow between his questioning look and her matching catlike smirk as she pushes off the car to stand up, he thinks it's not the most unlikely thing she'd ever do.

_She has a habit of coming up with impossible 'winning' scenarios..._

"Didn't I send you home?" He asks gruffly.

"What can I say," She replies, taking a step towards him. "The car dropped me here."

He frowns immediately, quashing the need to reprimand her in his way until he spies the silver labelled bottle in her hand.

"What's that for?" He asks.

"Well... with everything that's happened it occurred to me that... we never _did_ celebrate getting your name on the wall."

For a moment she's looking at him like he hasn't seen in a long time. She cocks her head to the side, waiting for him to string his words together.

"You were..._busy_." He manages.

The look on her face has his name in red and yellow striplighting until she checks herself.

"Well, I'm free now." She says, the meaning lingering in the air between them as his jaw tightens. "No Mike?" She asks.

"Rachel." He explains, then realises by the slightly sad note on her face that he now looks like the most pathetic man in the world. "I told him to go celebrate with the person he wanted to."

"That's very… managing partner of you." She says, impressed.

"Well, I have to step up now," He states, straightening as his hands find his pockets.

"Step up 1, or Step up 2?" She jokes, moving closer.

He considers challenging her for a split second, that fire buried under a ton of weight in his gut flaring out between them. He knows that she sees it, because she gets that girlish, almost shy look in her eye like she's suddenly his pray.

"So, we gonna drink this, or not?" She says flippantly, aware that neither of them have moved so much as an inch towards his apartment. He can see something in her face, something that tells her she's not welcome.

_She's somehow completely wrong and yet not too far off of the truth..._

"You're not gonna let me bow out of this, are you?" He asks, wincing slightly.

"Of course not. What kind of assistant would I be if I did? It's either _me_, or you go find Jessica."

"Fine." He says, a huff falling out of his lips as he takes a moment. "Get in the car." He decides, rolling his eyes as his head gestures vaguely in the direction of their ride.

Her interest piques immediately as she all but slinks into the back-seat of his car with bottle in hand, nodding to Ray in the front seat who winks at her. As he gets in and slams the door shut,

_It's then that he feels it,_

The electricity between them; tangible and bitter-sweet.

She notices immediately because her lips are pursing and she's gripping her bag for dear life under the cover of a cool exterior.

"Relax, Donna." He throws at her. She gives him her own silent throwaway look in reply. "Ray, we're going to the Vanguard." He says into the rear view mirror.

"Where are you taking me?" She asks, cutting the minute of tension between them.

"I thought you knew everything?" He questions, toying with her. Now that she's brought out the devil in him he's going to play on that side of the coin for a moment longer. Her face isn't buying it, though. He sighs. "Somewhere that you've never been before." He says.

"How do you know I've never been there before?" She challenges.

"Because if you** had**,_ then I would know about it_." He points out. He notices her open her bag and catches her hand, leaning in slightly. "Don't...Google it. Just..._trust me_."

She squints at his words, until a smile tugs at her lips and she clicks her bag shut. "Fine." She says.

When they arrive, he can see a myriad of thoughts run across her face until she settles on a knowing smile, as if she should have known all along; which in his mind she should have. He's thankful when he gets out of his side and she's already beside him, completely skipping the 'date' formality as the words 'not a date' flare up in the forefront of his mind. He'll take a silent delight though, in people thinking otherwise. He's always been proud to have her on his arm or thereabouts.

As he walks with her up to the door, two large men are manning it. There's a line around the corner, but it's a fleeting thought as it's not his concern.

"Well...if it isn't Harvey Specter." The larger man says, a wide smile growing.

"Hey Desmond, hows it going?" He asks cordially, handing him a smooth fifty. He looks behind his shoulder to see Donna shaking her head at him as she approaches the doorman.

"They're on in fifteen, you've got time." He says to Harvey. "And this must be your… girlfriend?" The man asks, grinning at Donna. Any other guy and he'd be showing another moment of aggression, but this man is nothing but a playful teddy bear. _Smooth as sand and sweet as a Colada..._

"I'm_ not_ his girlfriend. I'm **Donna**." She says boldly, straightening up in her heels with a whip of a wry smile.

"She's just… a _friend_." He finds the words coming out, but the last one gets stuck in his throat. Both her and Desmond look at him like they're a double act, her shaking her head slightly and him raising an eyebrow. She looks at the large man, before sauntering past him with self satisfaction painted all over her face.

"You make friends easy, don't you?" He whispers past her ear, restricting the smile that's growing with every second.

"People like Redheads. We're a dying breed, you know." She says, cocking her eyebrow at him.

"You wouldn't think so," He says. He instantly regrets it when he can see that she's taken it the wrong way, albeit with a humour.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean… Harvey?" She asks. _There it is again_, her using his name with a purpose. It's all too come hither and war-like to exist in their little plutonic bubble, like the needle waiting for a moment.

"If you're what a dying breed looks like, then maybe we all need to get on the endangered species list." He says.

He's not even sure why he said it, as the words come back around from his mouth and filter into his ears. She blushes. He regrets it.

"Let's get a drink." He says, gruffly, walking in front of her to the bar.

When she leans next to him, turning so she can read his face, he's tired of hiding it. Whatever it is going on with them, it's definitely not subtle.

"Your Dad played here, didn't he?" She asks. It's not what he thought she'd say.

"Yeah. A few times." He says, his face lighting with the memory.

"I saw the picture on the wall. He'd be very proud of you." She lifts her chin, her eyes glassy.

"You think?" He asks, his face guarded.

"**I know**." She says pointedly, before browsing the rows and rows of alcohol.

"You decided yet?" He asks, indicating to the bar.

"I'm thinking….something sweet." She bites her lip, looking at every label with a sharp intent.

The bartender reaches them then, lingering over Donna a second too long. He can't mistake the negative feeling that it encourages.

"What can I getcha?" The man asks.

"I'll get a Macallan, double, neat. And… Donna?"

"White Russian… and give it a kick. Thank you."

"Kalua? Really?" He questions.

"I'm tired," She reasons. "Two birds, _one creamy vodka drink_."

"You didn't have to come tonight. I **did** send you home, you know." He chides, his arm resting on the bar.

"If you think that I'm going to let you spend tonight, at least part of it on your own then you're very much mistaken. You need to have a little fun, Harvey." She says, naturally leaning in.

"Donna…" He warns. Her drink arrives first. Somehow he's not surprised.

She stops then, her face hardening as she takes a long sip of her drink. He feels the urge to look away when she licks the milky voda off of her lips.

"Things are changing with us, aren't they?" She says, half to herself.

"They don't have to," He says, steals the words almost.

"You don't want them to?" She counters.

"Do you?" He throws back at her. He forgets sometimes how good they are at not answering the important questions.

She sighs, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass as she watches the ice cubes bob and dance inside it. "I'm not sure that it matters what I want anymore," She mumbles, again to herself.

"We don't have to do this." He warns softly, paying the bartender with a twenty as he notices his own drink in front of him.

"I'm tired Harvey...of there being a problem between us." Her eyes return glassy. He's deadly afraid she'll cry again; he's not sure what he'll do and what he won't do. _That's always the problem..._

"There's only going to be a problem if you date someone else in the office." He knows his words are selfish, but it's the only truth he can offer. He looks up at her in a tired blur and sees only red and black and peach.

"And that's the problem. My life…is **you**. I don't have a life outside of the office, and whenever I do have, this happens."

"Donna, I told you-"

"Save it." She says, looking away from him as the musicians take their place on the stage and people start to gather at the front.

It riles him, more than he'd like it to in such a public place. "Hey," He says, grabbing her arm for her attention. "You think it's not hard for me as well?"

He doesn't miss the fact that they've started touching each other again, the need strangely growing more with every day.

"I think...you get to live your life. And you seem to be content with work being your life...but I... I need more, Harvey."

"I know you do.." He frowns, remembering their recent conversation. "Let's just...enjoy tonight, okay?"

She nods slowly, watching his quiet defiance at her pushing of the subject. A long silence settles between them as they gravitate towards two booth seats on a small table as the lights lower and the band starts to play. It's typical 'real' jazz, with it's unpredictability and it's sweeping runs. There's something almost anticlimactic about it coming after their talk. He watches her over the table as she sips her drink, her head lost in thought. Suddenly, she's out of the little booth and standing next to him.

"What are you-" He starts.

"Scoot over. I'm not craning my next through the whole night." She says, gesturing him to move along. He challenges her for a split second, before he gives up and rolls his eyes, ending up squashed between the wall with her scooting in next to him. Her hair is draping over his shoulder in long red waves and all he can smell is white lilly.

"Is this really necessary?" He asks irritably. "It's not theatre."

"What do you think is going to happen if we sit next to each other?" She suddenly asks, mostly accuses.

He's shocked at the words, but finds himself challenging her with a look. It's harder with her so close, and her gaze so sharp against his.

"You want the long answer or the short answer?" He asks, a grumpy note falling out between his lips with a thud that he wasn't quite expecting.

"You'll never be that lucky a second time." She warns with a lazy smile.

He's actually surprised that she's not hanging off of the edge when he notices her sit an inch away from him and is overcome with the sudden absence of her vibrant hair on his shoulder.

His eyes drift to the waiter who quietly indicates them, as he motions for another round to be brought to the table.

It occurs to him, as his gaze lands on her out of the corner of his eye, that she's right.

_Things **are** changing between them._

And whilst he's not sure how he feels about it, there's that little piece of him, far in the back of his head that's comforted by her sat beside him. Like she's meant to be there.

_Like she's always been there..._

"What?" She asks, frowning at him as her large eyes search his. Before he can even articulate a sound her mouth straightens out into a line, watching him with what he thinks is reverence.

"Nothing," He passes off, looking out to where the bassist is taking centre stage for his solo. He sees her question him further out the corner of his eye until the waiter places their drinks on the table in front of them and quickly collects the empty crowding glasses. He picks up his glass, frowning at the ice cubes that linger in there, but too tired to object to the order being wrong and takes a large swig.

He can feel his head start to swim; the second double starting to make it's way down his throat, searing it with a purpose as it warms and soothes his empty stomach. His eyes flicker around to the couples and groups in neighbouring chairs, all enjoying themselves, talking under hushed tones, connected, and if not then connecting with the people around them.

And then there's the two of _them_ in the corner, playing with fire. Playing with their precarious thread of a relationship. It's tenuous and threatening the very perfect world they've built and he's all too aware of the fact.

**_It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm_**

**_We can roll ourselves over 'cause we're uncomfortable_**

**_Oh well, the devil makes us sin_**

**_But we like it when we're spinning in his grip_**

**_Love is like a sin, my love,_**

**_For the ones that feel it the most_**

**_Look at her with her eyes like a flame_**

**_She will love you like a fly will never love you again_**

His dark eyes find hers suddenly; and like the moth to a flame he notices her move closer with every second, Her lips moist from her drink and her hair falling slightly over her face. For a moment he feels this strange rush, as her face gets closer; his cheeks feel flushed and she smells like an ice cream sundae. It occurs to him that he should stop her, hell, he wants to stop them both before they create an even bigger mess of things. His chest tightens as something too close to his groin stirs as she tilts her head, her mouth changing shape to shape as if undecided on a whim. Before his brain can even react her lips are at his ear.

"I'm starving. You wanna get out of here?" She whispers under the loud band, her eyes connecting with his as she leans back.

His breath catches like a teenager. "Sure," He says, looking down for a moment, before slapping a twenty next to the two barely touched drinks.

* * *

The air is cool and close as he lets her walk in front of him; nodding to Desmond who hugs his coat with a wink 'goodbye'. He lets Ray have the night off, instead flagging a cab out of the many that stream passed them with a divine purpose, before opening the door for her to get in.

"Where to?" The slightly ignorant cab driver asks, sipping at what appears to be 'Kool-Aid'.

Her eyes flick towards Harvey's, her expression tinged with an excitement.

"What?" He asks, his gaze narrowing.

"I think that we need a… new ritual."

"A new one?" He asks, not quite getting the point.

"239 Park Avenue South," Donna says to the driver.

"Donna, you're kidding?" He questions, immediately aware of where they are heading to.

"You said you loved the place. What a better place to do it, than there." She shrugs.

He rolls his eyes at that.

_She is out of her mind..._

* * *

He always loved this place. He hadn't lied the last time they were there. Admittedly, she had been right, he'd only been there once in ten years, now on his third time. But deep down, he was a man of nostalgia. And the Diner had held one of the most defining moments of their work and personal relationship. It was hard to forget the place. The Diner is quite busy tonight for such a late hour; people leaning on the bar, eating, talking and servers milling about the place looking useless and 50's kind of cool.

He stops in his tracks when he notices that she's sits in the spot, _their_ spot. In **that** booth.

_**The** booth._

"Really?" He cocks his head at her.

"What a better place than where everything started?" She reasons. But he can see that look in her eye, like a woman with a plan. It's her most dangerous look.

He sits down slowly, noticing how different they are this time around. He's sharper, harder and sits a little straighter. She's somehow redder, more classic and strangely sexier than she used to be, if it's even possible. He spies her razor sharp heels an inch from his polished black shoes and she catches him like he's a peeping tom.

"So," He says, immediately changing the subject off of her look. "What's this new ritual for?"

"Harvey… there's something going on with us. Now, I think that… _we both_ don't want to jeopardise what we have and what we've built. But if this keeps going on, then we're gonna break the back of it and I don't think _either of us_ is ready to deal with that. Agreed?"

He finds himself wanting to ask a question. But instead he fills the need to nod. "Agreed." He says, a little boyishly.

"So," She starts. He expects her to finish, or at least explain. Instead, she looks towards the bar, spying a stray waitress with a sharp blonde bob looking less than purposeful and gives her a wave. She smiles, wandering over with her pen in her mouth.

"Hi, sorry about the wait, guys. What can I get you?" She asks, her gaze floating between the two of them.

"Hi, we would like a banana cream sundae… just one large one." Donna says.

His eyebrows hit the roof as she glances nonchalantly at him, and then back to the waitress.

"Would you like that with whipped cream?" The young girl asks.

_The penny drops like it's a rolling anvil…_

He stiffens as he notices Donna glance at him with a grin and a notably sharp eyebrow before answering. "We would like lots and lots of whipped cream. And nuts, if you've got em,"

_He's suddenly very aware of his pant leg..._

"Anything else?" The girl asks, thankfully not catching on.

"That'll be all, thank you," Donna replies, straightening her napkin and cutlery as the waitress disappears.

"Are you insane?" He finally asks when he's sure the waitress has gone.

"I don't know about you, but we need something to vent what's going on," She gestures between them.

"And you think us both sitting here, eating whipped cream is going to help?" He asks, frowning.

"There's nothing better than doing something whilst pretending it's not what you're **actually** doing it for. Or are you forgetting the can opener?"

"What does that even mean?" He asks. He's not stupid. He's just shocked at her brazen suggestion. "And the can opener is for the same thing,"

"But the can opener ritual, isn't satisfying the thing that we're both considering doing."

She's on the mark and he hates that. Hell, he's been trying not to count how long it would take to unzip her out of that jumpsuit and if she'd still make that sound if he _were to_...

"So we are talking about _that_," He asks.

"I seem to remember that when we did _that_, you enjoyed yourself immensely." She said, her grin wicked.

"I wasn't the only one," He growls and instantly regrets it when she shakes her head at him.

"All I'm saying is, if we substitute** that** for_ this_ then it might delay, whatever stupid complication is forming between us, and maintain what we have for a modicum longer." She reasons.

"Or, it could make me **really** think about whipped cream."

"Harvey," She chides, rolling her eyes.

"Okay… if we do this, we need a condition."

"Go on," She says.

"We just do this here. Not at the office or our apartments."

"Deal. And if we're having a complicated moment, then we just take each other here, eat a sundae, talk it over."

"I'm going to need to go to the gym more often." He says absent mindedly.

"And neither of us invite Mike."

"Who says I want to share my sundae with anyone else?" He says, suddenly overly aware of his double entendre when she smiles beside herself.

"You told him about the can opener ritual," She notes, her face falling.

"How did you-" He frowns.

"Really?" She questions, looking at him like he should know better.

"If we keep skipping off to the Diner, he's going to think it's a euphemism either way." He warns. The kid is smart. He's not blind, and he's unfortunately not without his memory.

"I don't care what he thinks or what he knows, he's just not allowed to join." She says, the firmness in her voice sounding strange considering the public view of the conversation.

"I think we can do without Mike." He agrees, sighing.

Before they've even shaken on it the young blonde has returned with a sizeable glass dessert plate, heaped with a large banana, under what looks like banana ice cream, banoffee ice cream, vanilla and a valley of whipped cream, with cherries and nuts covering the entire thing.

The look they share is a picture. Donna is the first one to delve in, taking a spoonful of mostly whipped cream and a cherry, which she pops into her mouth, ripping the stalk off as her gaze gravitates towards him, his spoon still in hand. He watches further as she eats the entire spoon of whipped cream, chewing absent mindedly at the little pieces of nut. She notices he's not said a word or done anything since she started. "What?" She asks, her eyes wide and wary of something off.

"I don't think I'm ready to watch you eat the banana," He says, completely deadpan.

She laughs dryly at him, licking her lips. "Dig in, Specter. It's not just my ritual."

"Where do you want me to start?" He asks, his tone dragging with a purpose that she quickly picks up on.

"I want _you_ to start with…_ the cherry_. But not the cream just yet." She says boldly, fully aware of the implication of her words.

"You're filthy." He accuses.

"I know what I want. Hustle." She commands, that cat like grin appearing again. He pauses, and she huffs. "I'm not apologising..."

"Yeah, yeah." He replies, cutting her off as his eyes focus on the dessert. "Patience is a virtue, Donna."

He picks off the highest cherry, and notices that she's watching every mouthful from the comfort of her spoon as he bites into the cherry, it's overly sugary inside filling his mouth as he notices her pouting slightly. He slowly takes a spoonful of ice cream, grazing the whipped cream until he hears her object with a moan and eats a spoonful, shaking his head at her overtly sexual nature as the whipped cream mixes with a tiny bit of ice cream in his mouth.

He realises half way through that they naturally take turns watching each other, savouring each other's enjoyment in a way that they've never done in all the time they've been together. It's so intimate and yet so outrageous that they're doing this in a busy diner, that he wonders just how many people are watching, and out of those people how many are aware of just what a messed up metaphor they're making of their meal.

"So, we're down to the Banana," He says, the humour pinching at his cheeks as he looks at her.

"In the end, it _always_ comes down to a banana," She says, grinning like a schoolgirl. There's mere second before they're both laughing through their half empty mouthfuls of whipped cream, struggling for breath to swallow quickly.

He can see her considering putting down her spoon. "If you pick up that banana with your hands, I'm leaving the table." He warns, pointing his spoon at her.

"You're so demanding."

He covers a grin with his utensil. "You have it. Now we've established what this represents, I'd rather not partake in the banana portion of the meal."

"Spoilsport." She says, slowly slicing into the banana with the side of her spoon before popping it into her mouth.

He watches as she finishes the last bite, placing her spoon next to his on the dessert plate, humming with a self satisfaction as she leans back in her chair.

"Better?" He asks, knowing that she'll understand.

"Better. You?"

"Better. _For now_."

Her smile falters in understanding. She nods, wiping her hands on her napkin. "I should...go." She says tiredly, smiling awkwardly at him. He can't not notice the look in her eyes. He knows she's seeing the same in him.

"I'll take you," He says as she drops a twenty on the table.

"No, no." She refuses, picking up her bag.

"Donna," He insists. His eyes do the job because she pauses. "I'll get you a cab." He says firmly.

She nods quietly and follows him out.

* * *

The night air is crisp and collecting dew as the smell of oncoming rain hits the air.

He flags a cab, waiting as she shuffles with an unknown purpose next to him.

"So, I never did say… congratulations." She finally says.

"I couldn't have done it without you," He replies, his tone soft.

"But you did. Don't you see; it's the first thing you've gotten at that firm without me, the most important thing and I wasn't there to help you get it." She finishes with a heavy, almost guilt laden frown.

"I don't even want it any more, Donna. Not the way I got it. I wish... that we had gotten it together. We'd have gotten it a better way if we had. But, what's done is done. And you're still here, so. That's the most important thing."

She nods, the frown softening as an indent forms over one eye to take a moment in thought. She slowly walks to the cab, opening the door and bending her head to get in as he watches her. Just when he turns around to start walking he hears a "Harvey?"

"Yeah?" He asks, turning back around to see her leaning out of the cab.

"_Always_." She says with a look.

He walks to the cab, closing it gently against her sitting form and watches her through smudged glass as the cab drives away.

_He realises then, is reaffirmed of the fact,_

_That she **will** always be there._

The second walk home doesn't feel quite as tense as the first.

And city around him seems far more beautiful now…

* * *

Note: I wanted to play around with their relationship and not endgame it like I usually do. It's fun playing on the precipice.

Lyrics were 'Paradise Circus' By Massive attack. I thought it was a great soundtrack moment. If I could I'd write with music over the top of it.


End file.
